Murder By Numbers
by GetxFightedxxx
Summary: When faced with a string of serial murders, Wes and Travis must work together to find the killer and save the next victim; a victim that's closer to the two of them than they thought.
1. Anatomy Of A Scene

"_Be happy while you're living, for you're a long time dead."_ - **Scottish Proverb**

"Could you please explain to me how the shade on my desk lamp ended up cracked?" Travis clenched his teeth together once the question left Wes' mouth. It was an honest accident and he planned on replacing his partner's precious light source once their shift was complete. There was absolutely no chance either of them could have gotten through the day without Wes noticing the large crack down the back of his black gooseneck work fixture. How had it happened? Travis found himself involved in a friendly game of "toss the football" with another colleague. With resulted in the flying pigskin slamming into the lamp and having it shatter to the floor. He did his best to pick it up and put it right back where it belonged on the desk. However, with someone who prided himself on being immaculate and keeping his own personal office space spic and span, Travis had zero luck of walking away from the ordeal Scott-free without Wes noticing.

"Haven't a clue," he replied while picking up his walking pace and surpassing Wes inside the parking lot. His thick black boots thudded hard against the pavement as he made his way from the passenger's side of Wes' newly purchased vehicle; bought after a little incident occurred during a take down. Not Travis' fault in the very least. Really, he blamed the criminal for not putting the van into park before they both dragged his wounded form out from behind the driver's wheel. The little dent he left on the door made no difference after all.

"I bet." His tone wasn't at all amused or pleased with his partner's response, but Wes knew better than to continue prying. Travis wasn't the type to admit his mistakes or take responsibility for his actions. He enjoyed finding ways around being noted as guilty and having to apologize.

"We're investigating a death. Are you really that worried about a lamp?" He asked while grabbing hold of the building's door and swinging it open. He paused for a moment to look back and make a little visual contact with the blue eyed uptight specimen.

"When I walk into work and find things on my desk rearranged and my lamp broken, then yes I do get a little ticked off that my personal space has been violated." Wes' hands found his waist as he flipped back the lower flaps of his grey suit jacket. A glare from the sun reflected off his LAPD badge, blinding Travis.

"Oh, here we go again." He teased while rolling his eyes and proceeding through the door. His manner's faded away as he released the frame and allowed it to shut in Wes' face. Leaving the blonde standing and starring on the opposite side of the glass.

With a deep sigh, Wes opened the door and finally followed in unison with Travis; whom was already halfway through the lobby and approaching a small group of uniformed police officers. The low hum clicking cameras and whispered voices filled the lowest level of the hotel building. Barely anyone outside of law enforcement was on the grounds; none permitted past the yellow police tape that surrounded the outside. _Why did so many deaths take place inside of hotels?_Wes thought to himself quickly while walking up toward the group. Tourists ventured away from their homes to Los Angeles in order to die. It just didn't seem like the ideal vacation anyone would have in mind.

"What do we have here?" Removing the small notepad from his back pocket, he flipped it open and clicked his pen. Three times to be exact, before placing the ballpoint on the slip of lined paper. Acknowledging Wes' Obsessive-Compulsive habits, Travis rolled his eyes yet again while giving an overly friendly smile to the female officer that stood before him. A light shade of crimson filled her pale cheeks as she returned the smile and tucked a strain of loose hair behind her ear.

"Victim is a white female in her early 30s. Cause of death seems to be strangulation." Travis' eyes followed down her form, but not carrying on until noticing the name tag that set on her chest: Officer Lindberg.

Her hair was deep red and had to have been her natural hue; lovely and large green eyes to match those of a new born innocent child. Her skin was fair, but the tiny freckles that coated her face and arms were hardly unnoticeable. She was slender, but carried just enough muscle and fat mass to round out the hourglass figure that was restrained inside of her uniform. Her hands stayed permanently placed on her duty belt. The way her fingers ran back and forth on her radio only indicated she was nervous. By the looks of it, she couldn't have been on the force for very long. Probably a rookie still trying to make a name and Travis was just the type to make her feel welcomed.

"No I.D. or belongings found on the body. Housekeeper said when she went out to empty the trashcans this morning and found the deceased wrapped inside of a warehouse pad beside the dumpster."

"Any other witnesses?" Travis asked while finally adverting his eyes upward and connecting with Lindberg's.

"No one saw anything." Jotting down the last piece of detail, Wes flipped his pad shut and tucked his pen inside his front pocket and the pad into his back pants pocket.

"Thank you-"

"Officer Lindberg." Travis interrupted his partner, causing Wes to shake his head. "I'm Detective Marks by the way and it was a pleasure to meet you." Those pearly white teeth he was known for having and flashing didn't hide one bit as his lips curved into a full blown grin. His hand reached out and the female officer took hold of it. Travis could feel the smooth gentle touch of her flesh with his fingertips and only desired to feel more. "If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to get in touch with me. I'm very loyal to the job."

A choking coughing sound disrupted and they both glanced back at Wes, who was patting his chest with his fist. Travis tilted his head and perched his lips together while flickering his eyes in the direction of the officer; his subtle way of telling Wes to knock it off and not ruin his moment of getting a potential number and another hookup.

"Sorry, must have swallowed some pollen." Wes rubbed his hand against the blue collar of his shirt before maneuvering around Travis and heading toward the back exit of the hotel lobby. By now, things had turned awkward between the female rookie and Travis. So awkward that she faked having to check in with her commanding officer and excused herself. Crash and burn.

It only took a short moment for Travis to collect himself and find his confidence again. It was rare for him to be turned down when he worked his charm, but it did happen on occasion. He had bounced back from enough failed relationships and horrible one night stands to patch his wounded ego. Pulling on his leather jacket, he tightened the sleeves around his built shoulders before heading in the same direction Wes had disappeared to. A path that lead him past the front desk, down the hall of elevators, a staircase entrance, the lounge and workout facility room, all the way toward the backdoor of the building. Above the solid white structure was a neon red exit sign; a door that would take him directly to the body of their victim.

Wes was already kneeling down beside the body when Travis found the two. She was bunched inside of blue cloth, but the covering was pulled back enough to reveal her body, dressed only in undergarments. Sexy lingerie with plenty of bare skin to be shown. No fingerprints laced her neck, which indicated the death of strangulation had to come from some object; possibly a rope or belt strap. Something solid to match the width of the red casing around her throat. Her skin was extremely pale and her body was entirely too cold to be a recent death. She was killed elsewhere and the murderer decided to dump her body here. Either thinking it wouldn't be found before decomposing or he was determined to be caught eventually.

"How long has she been dead?" Travis asked while pulling a pair of white latex gloves from his jean pocket and slipping them on over his hands.

"I'd say 24 to 48 hours. Rigor mortis is high. Whoever killed her tortured her beforehand." Along her arms were cuts and bruises, but only the thick red marks around her wrists and ankles stood out the most. There was dried blood and the markings of rope or some form of restrain to tie her up and hold her down.

"Our first step is finding out who Jane Doe is." Travis' hand brushed over her soft lifeless cheek.

"And why someone would want her dead." Lifting his head, Wes' gaze shifted from the corpse to Travis. He and his partner were on the same page when it came to solving this case.

***Author note**: I love this show and even though it's only four episodes in, ideas where already coming to mind for a fanfic. My next chapter will be longer and I plan to update soon. I hope you find this intriguing enough to continue reading!


	2. Ambassador Of Fear

"_When we are no longer able to change a situation, __we are challenged to change ourselves."_ - **Viktor Frankl**

"Where are we going for lunch today?" Travis asked while passing through the front entrance of the division's headquarters. It only took him a few seconds to bounce from the doorway into his computer chair. A desk stacked high of files and mess continued to crowd his space. Leaving Wes to wonder how his partner ever managed to get anything done through the rubbish.

"We are not going anywhere." Wes replied while clicking profusely on the enter button to his keyboard. A loud generated beep rang out after every connection between his index finger and the pad. "We have work that needs to be done. Work first, eat later." Leaning back in his chair, Travis rolled his blue eyes and crossed his arms over his stomach; interlocking his hands together at his navel.

"Man, you know I don't work well when I'm hungry." Gripping the ledge of his desk, Wes pushed himself backward in his own chair. It gracefully flew from his work station and he stood just as quickly.

"Luckily for you, Jonelle finished her report and wants us to meet her at the lab. Maybe she has some information that won't cause you to think too much." He barked with a slight smirk forming across his face. "Nobody wants that," the words broke through in a gentle tone as he moved away from his desk and headed toward the office doors.

"Wait, what?" Travis protested while rapidly finding his way to his feet and following along behind his blonde haired co-worker. "You know, I don't appreciate your hostility toward me. I'm just trying to be a better partner to you. Isn't that what Dr. Ryan is trying to help us with?"

"Dr. Ryan is only doing what Captain Sutton asked her to do. Therapy doesn't work for anyone. It never has and never will." Wes snapped.

"See, that's where you're wrong. Dr. Ryan has done a really great job at getting us to open us to each other. I've never felt so close to anyone before."

"You just want to feel close to Dr. Ryan," Travis cocked his head and eyed Wes thoughtfully while contemplating his comment. It was difficult for him to submerge a smile from envisage it all. Elise Ryan certainly was a looker and a code he had yet to crack; which made him all the more determined to learn about her personal life and that young boy she was caring for. Secrets never stayed secrets for long.

"I really hope Jonelle doesn't give me the evil eye today. I've been having these dreams where she's chasing me with a 12 inch scalpel." Wes snorted a laugh as the two reached the door to the forensics' lab. He didn't speak a word in reply to Travis' confession before opening the frame and passing through.

There was a strong temperature difference compared to the hallways and the office. The crime lab always carried a more winter feel even though it was smack dab in the middle of L.A. Jonelle stood behind her work station with the female victim laid out on the table. She was covered with a white medical cloth from her neck down, but the bruises and markings around her neck were visible from several feet away. Wes had no trouble approaching the medical examiner with a friendly greeting while Travis hung back. He was still feeling the awkward tension between the both of them and that lingering one night stand she would never let him live down.

"It's nice to see you Wes," she spoke with a generous smile.

"You too," he replied while glancing back at Travis. The same Travis that stood quietly in the backdrop and didn't have anything to say for once. His eyes locked with Jonelle's and he nodded to be polite. Her fake smile said hello, but her cold stare told him to get lost. The same old thing whenever Travis ventured into her territory. "What can you tell us about our Jane Doe?"

"Well, she definitely suffered." Slowly, Travis moved closer to the body. His gaze locked over the peaceful demise displayed on the victim's face.

"I thought it was clean cut strangulation?" Jonelle glanced up from the corpse and looked at her former infatuation. She seemed displeased with him speaking, but didn't bare any form of vocal annoyance with him like she normally would have.

"It was, but I'm talking about starvation. Your victim was deprived of food for nearly eight days and only lived off of water. And not very much."

"Could have been fasting," Wes declared.

"Or she was being held captive by her murderer." The two exchanged a look through the silence.

"I do have some good news," Jonelle interrupted. "I ran your victim's fingerprints through the system and it turns out she has a criminal record." Another exchange of curious looks passed between the two men. "Dia Bishop, known by her street name Loca."

"Street name?" Travis asked with his eyes narrowed.

"See this tattoo?" Jonelle lifted the right arm of the deceased. On the back of her bicep was a small Swastika symbol with the markings PENI underneath.

"Public Enemy Number One," she nodded in reply to Travis before gently lying Dia's arm back down on the table. "It might be a lot easier to figure out who killed her."

"Or, a lot harder," Wes was always the less optimistic of the two. "Thanks, Jonelle." He bid his farewell to the brunette medical examiner before escaping the lab and heading back to his desk for further research into the case. Travis stayed behind for only a moment; long enough to catch another evil glare from Jonelle before taking off.

* * *

"When was the last time you saw Dia?" Travis' voice was soft and caring as he took the cup of steaming hot tea from the older woman. Her hands were shaky and she fidgeted hard on her feet. He wasn't sure if it was nerves from over the years playing games with her or the shock of her daughter's death registering. Her home was decorated in lovely décor; furnished from head to toe in soft tan seating pieces and a hand carved table in the center of the arrangement. Along the far wall were several picture frames full of Dia and her siblings. It was too much of a happy home visual. He and Wes had trouble understanding how this sweet girl got mixed up in gang activity.

"About three weeks ago," Ms. Bishop answered while gradually taking a seat in the chair opposite of the two on the couch. "All she could talk about was getting out of that terrible group she was part of. She broke up with that boyfriend of hers. He was a horrible influence; got her involved in the whole thing." Travis brought the cup to his lips and tilted it forward. A hot stream of liquid filled his mouth and ran down his throat as he listened closely. Wes on the other hand, didn't take his eyes off the older woman. He was too focused on everything she was saying and making mental notes inside of his mind for later reference. "She and her friend, Cerise, were determined to get out. I told her she could come home, but Dia refused to move back in with me. She was always so stubborn and wanted to be independent." The crackles in her voice made it all too clear she was holding back tears. Waiting the moment both detectives were gone and she could grieve in private.

"Ms. Bishop, did you know Dia was arrested for prostitution and that there was a warrant out for her arrest?" The surprising look on the older woman's face answered his question.

"I knew she was doing awful things, but…" With watery eyes, Mr. Bishop choked back several tears. "Never would I have believed she would sell herself."

"Do you remember this boyfriend's name?" Travis asked while setting his cup down on the coffee table.

"Whenever she spoke of him she always called him Tomko." Quickly, Wes pulled his trusty pad from inside of his suit jacket and jotted down the name. "What kind of name is that for a man anyway?"

"Uh," Wes fumbled with words as he and Travis exchanged looks.

"I don't know." They both replied in unison while shrugging their shoulders and shaking their heads. It was like being identical twins.

"When she first told me she left him, I couldn't explain how I felt. He wasn't a very good guy, did time in prison." Ms. Bishop took a sip of her heated tea to help calm her. It did little to no good. "From what I remember, he was angry about the breakup. He just wouldn't accept that it was over. Constantly calling her and following her around wherever she went." The more Ms. Bishop spoke, the bigger Wes' accusations became. A jealous, crazy ex-con of a boyfriend was the perfect suspect in the murder of Dia. They had to find his location as soon as possible and bring him in for questioning.

"We appreciate your time," Wes infringed as he stood from the couch. Putting his notepad away and buttoning the middle button on his gray suit jacket. Ms. Bishop didn't bother to stand, but Travis took his partner's actions as his cue to get up as well. "If you can think of anything else, please give me a call." Reaching into his wallet, he removed his business card that provided both his office number and cell phone number. He reached his hand out to Ms. Bishop and her quivering palm took it from his grasp.

"Take care," Travis intervened as he gave her a sympathetic look. She nodded to thank him, but couldn't find any words to say. It was obvious she was so close to breaking down and they had only a few more seconds to leave before she split in half.

The two men quietly let themselves out of the quaint home in the greater part of Wilshire. Even the picturesque neighborhood of perfectly cut lawns and playful sprinklers didn't appear to be the place a gang member would grow up. Dia's criminal record indicated no other form of illegal activity outside of trafficking and she was a decently good student; so they had learned from speaking to her mother. Pictures that aligned her home indicated she had well rounded relationships with her family members and didn't come from a broken home life. It just didn't make much sense.

"So, do you think the boyfriend did it?" Wes asked as he walked down the narrow path to the street where his black automobile set underneath the blistering west coast sun.

"Maybe," Travis said, "maybe not." His words got a serious look from Wes that said he couldn't believe Travis considered another suspect to be their murderer. "There are a whole lot of angles that need to be looked at first."

Opening his driver's side door, Wes plopped himself into the cushioned seat while also removing his mobile phone from his pocket. "Okay, then let's get to it." Zipping through his list of contacts, Travis watched him through the open window. He continued to loiter on the grass patch beside the door as Wes contacted someone from the station.

"Who are you calling?" He finally asked while grabbing hold of the door handle. It popped open and he slid into the empty seat. Wes just looked at Travis without saying anything. Gaining an impatient look from the other that was waiting an answer.

"Hello?" A chipper female voice broke through the phone line after three rings.

"Kendall, it's Wes. I need a favor," Travis threw his hands in the air; disappointed he couldn't already figure out who his partner had been calling. "I need you to check the database for a guy by the nickname of Tomko."

"Will do," Kendall wasted no time pausing her video game and pulling up the computer database of every fingerprinted individual that roamed the country. It took a few short seconds for the system to search through thousands of potential matches until finally coming to a halt. "Here it is." Snapping his fingers, Wes demonstrated for Travis to hand him a writing utensil and something to write on. Travis shrugged and scratched the side of his head, unsure of how he was going to pull paper and a pen from midair. "Tom Klaine Hughes." Using his free hand, Wes patted his chest; feeling his notepad inside of his jacket. He shook his head in embarrassment before removing his trusty pal. "He did time in LAC California State Prison under the charges of burglary, armed robbery and assault on another inmate. Before that, it says he was accused of sexual assault on an ex, but the charges were later dropped. He was released four years ago."

"Sounds like our man has quite the rap sheet," Wes chimed in while writing down everything. "Is there any address for him?"

"6903 South Normandie Avenue."

"That's down in South Central. Just the place I'd expect to find him. Thanks Kendall." Handing over the pad, Travis took it with ease and read over all of the information. He didn't venture down to SC very often. It was a high crime rate in the Los Angeles area ever since the 1992 riots and the constant string of murders that surfaced from the region. The last time he found himself there was back when he raced. A time in his life he would like to forget.

"You're welcome." Wes hung up his phone and placed it inside of his pocket.

"Let's roll." Travis flipped the pad shut and tossed it into the backseat of the vehicle.

"What are you doing?" Sticking the key into the ignition, Wes glanced through the rearview mirror at his police pad hanging off the edge of the seat. "Could we treat my property with a little more respect, please?"

Travis made a hissing noise through his teeth as he gave an apologetic look. "Sorry." Shaking his head, Wes put the car into motion and they were off.

* * *

"LAPD!" Travis shouted as he banged his hand on the front door of the ecru colored house. It was surrounded by a chain fence, but the lock was broken and the far left end weighed down. The front stoop was covered in cigarette butts and the faint scent of marijuana could be smelled through the cracked windows. There was a muffled rummaging sound from the inside, causing both Wes and Travis to put their hands on their guns inside their holsters. "Open up!" Another ruffling sound made Travis remove his gun and position it out in front of him; his left hand on the butt and his right hand tightly on the trigger. He was ready, even if his heart and adrenaline told him otherwise.

"I'm coming!" A male voice yelled from inside. When the sound of clinking for the chain lock on the opposite side of the door was heard, Travis placed his gun back inside of his holder. A deep sigh escaped his lips when the door swung open and some hippie looking white guy starred at him through red eyes. "What's happening?"

"We're looking for Tom Hughes," Wes spoke. The stranger looked at him confusingly.

"Tomko." Travis continued.

"Oh right, I don't know where he is." Just as quickly as the hippie was to shut the door, Travis step forward and shoved his foot between the frame. It stopped the drugged up guy from closing them out so soon.

"Do you smell that?" Travis sniffed the air and looked back to Wes.

"Yes, what is that, Northern Lights?" A look of concern fell over the questioning man's eyes as he released the door.

"Alright, I haven't seen Tomko in like two weeks. Last time he came around it was with that girlfriend of his. He wanted to borrow some cash."

"Girlfriend? You talking about Loca?" Travis asked while moving his foot back and standing up straight on the porch.

"Nah, this one was much finer than that bitch. Name was…" starring up at the ceiling, Wes and Travis were growing impatient with this guy. "Cerise, I think. Man, I would have liked her to stick around longer." The name Cerise brought questions to Wes' and Travis' mind. Already, she was dubbed to be the best friend of Dia whom made a pact to escape Public Enemy. And now she was said to be Tomko's new girlfriend.

"Do you know where we can find Tomko?" Wes asked.

"Beats the hell out of me. Guess he's staying with his girl or probably with one of his many _brothers_."

"Why is this listed as his main address?" Travis asked while putting his hands on his waist and stretching out his back.

"He's my cousin and I let him crash here when he was paroled. Are we done now?"

"Yeah," Nodding, Wes watched as the guy shut his front door and left them both standing outside.

"Can we please get something to eat before we continue our rousing game of connect the idiots?" Travis pleaded while setting foot off the porch and passing through the jacked up fence. In the distance, the sound of a dog barking and car alarm going off could be heard. No one that roamed the streets seemed to be affected by it. Probably something that occurred on a daily basis for the locals.

"Might as well. We need to head back to the station and see if we can dig up any more people associated with this guy or anything about this Cerise."

"Yes! Thank you Lord," Travis tossed his arms into the air and glared up at the sky; squinting hard when the sun beamed into his orbs.

"Stop messing around and get in already." Wes demanded.

"Okay, but you're buying." Travis smiled as he surpassed Wes on the street and jogged toward the car.

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want any of this?" With a mouth full of ground beef, cheese, lettuce and onion, he waved his loaded burger at Wes. They were back at the station, working through phones ringing off the hook and plenty of colleagues wondering through the office trying to solve their own cases. Sitting across from each other, they had the perfect view to communicate when needed and a disturbing range of vision whenever they wanted to avoid each other. Wes' bright blue eyes had widened in disgust as he watched his partner chomp down on the fast food piece of Heaven. Usually, he would find himself craving cheese burgers or deep fried chicken, but not today. No, he was too determined to solve the case of their Jane Doe, now Dia Bishop. Instead, he sipped away at his stale coffee that sat in the pot since morning while surfing the computer for leads.

"Just because we're partners and have to go to couple's therapy doesn't mean we have to share everything." Travis shrugged before wrapping his mouth around another bite full of delicious food. Wes turned his attention back to his computer screen. So far, he had searched the database for anyone connected to Tom Hughes, but was coming up empty handed. Cherry didn't hit on anyone, except for a stripper known for her duty in the club scene back in the 80s. It was a rare chance she was Tomko's new squeeze. "Turns out, Hughes has had two former girlfriends that have died. One was during his time in prison right after she wrote him a Dear John letter and the other was after his release."

"Why wasn't he brought in as a suspect for the second murder?" Travis rightfully asked.

"He was, but apparently he had a pretty strong alibi for the night of her death. I'm beginning to see a pattern here. It's either a jealous ex-boyfriend planning revenge or a best friend wanting to get rid of the woman that stood in the way of her and her new love."

"Did you try Cerise?" The unneeded to be asked question left Travis without a response. Of course Wes searched that. It was their only piece of information to go on as of right now. "What about Cherry?"

"How is that going to help?" Wes defended while catching a quick glimpse of Travis stuffing the last bit of his burger into his mouth and chewing away.

"Words associated with Cerise? What else do you have to go on?" Travis clapped his hands together before swaying them back and forth; removing crumbs from his fingers and then brushing them off his leather jacket.

"Fine." With a stern tone, Wes typed in the name. The database displayed a searching symbol. He was certain nothing would come back, but to his surprise, something did. Clicking on the name, a picture of an attractive young woman popped up on his computer screen. She had dark brown hair, beyond shoulder length and deep green eyes to offset her natural hair color. It actually worked to compliment her facial structure. Captivated by the picture that starred at him, Wes was zoned out enough not to hear Travis speaking to him.

"Hey," his voice was faded, but eventually grew louder as Wes snapped out of it. "What came up?"

"A match," Wes informed him quietly while not pulling his gaze away.

"I told you so. I am the master." Normally, the blonde would have made a sarcastic rebuttal or rolled his eyes, but he ignored Travis' remark all together. "What's her name?"

"Sasha Kirsch."

"What?" Quickly, Travis climbed to his feet and moved around the edge of his desk. He hovered over Wes' shoulder and peered at the computer screen. Right there, plain as day, was the picture of someone he knew. Someone he knew extremely well. Swallowing hard, he couldn't pull his eyes away. Images of his past raced through his mind as he fell into a trance of his own.

"What's wrong?" Wes asked while glancing up at Travis. "Do you know her?"

A long moment of silence fell between the two. Travis didn't know how to respond. Lying to his partner wasn't going to be good and it wasn't like he could at this point. His reaction to her name said too much already and he couldn't work his way out of denying a connection with her.

"She's my foster sister."


End file.
